freefalling is an art
by Lovebites and Popcorn
Summary: In which Castiel’s feelings are firmly rejected and Sam is quite thoroughly frustrated with his asinine brother. — Dean/Cas, two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**freefalling is an art.**

_In which Castiel's feelings are firmly rejected and Sam is quite thoroughly frustrated with his asinine brother. _— _**Dean/Cas**__.

* * *

_

It was a perfectly normal day. Well, perfectly normal in light of the apocalypse being on its merry way. But the Winchester brothers were pretty content with Judgement Day hanging about their heads this Sunday afternoon. If anything, so long as the angels and demons were kept at bay and they didn't have lives to save, they figured that their final days on earth should be spent lazing about and doing close to nothing.

"Sam, I'm headin' out!" Dean Winchester called from the doorway of their motel room. "Gonna grab a bite!"

"Get me something while you're at it," Sam called back, his eyes never leaving his laptop, fingers tapping away at an unnatural speed.

"Right, see ya in a bit then, Sammy." Dean righted his jacket and headed out the door towards the car park, Impala keys in hand.

It _was_ a beautiful day, indeed. And Dean couldn't help but think that if he failed to save the world, there wouldn't be anymore sunshiny days like these. He wiped that morbid thought out of his head almost immediately. Partly because as the '67 Chevy came into view, he could make out someone leaning against it, as though waiting for him.

The Angel Sidekick – tan trench coat and all.

"Hey, Cas. What brings you here?" Surprise was evident in Dean's voice as he reached the Impala and walked around to the front. "How'd you even know where we were, anyways? I mean, stalking really isn't your style," he joked offhandedly, knowing Castiel wouldn't even bat an eyelid at his half-assed attempt at humor.

"Your phone's been dead for two days," the angel replied flatly. "I had a hard time tracking you down."

"Wonderful. I assume you didn't come for tea and biscuits?"

"Certainly not. I have something important to tell you."

"Well, okay," Dean conceded heartily, opening the driver-side door with a smile. "I'm off to grab a hot meal on this fine, lovely day."

Castiel blinked. Dean was exhibiting something suspiciously like bright cheer and joviality. Which was, in retrospect, a nice change from playing the right aggravated bitch as he had been the past few days (of course, the End Of The World tended to do that to people).

Dean slid into the front seat and peered out at the angel, eyebrow raised. "You comin', compadre?"

* * *

They were three minutes into the drive, sitting in silence apart from the crooning of Robert Plant in the background, when Dean decided that he needed to say something. Anything.

"So, what's the deal, Cas? Didn't think you were seriously up for roadtrippin' with Dean Winchester. Or am I really that lovable?"

The angel paused for five whole seconds, as though debating whether to answer the question or not, but in the end he decided to hedge it entirely and came up with one of his own.

"How far away is your stop?"

Dean gave a shrug. "Well, nearest convenience store's ten minutes away, but I kinda figured I really need a good meal to set me straight. So we're headed for that snazzy diner I saw yesterday. _Mish_ _the Quiche, _or whatever. 'Bout half an hour, give or take."

"Okay. I'll be there."

After all his time spent in Castiel's company, Dean didn't even need to discern the soft flutter of wings to know that the angel had conveniently bailed on him.

"Dude thinks he's a smooth bastard," he huffed to no one in particular. His eyes never left the road.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Dean walked into _Mish the Quiche_, just as Castiel appeared right behind him without warning. To any other person, it would have seemed as though the two of them had entered the diner together. Not that there were many people around to witness their entrance anyway. Looked like a slow day.

"Okay," Dean said, turning around abruptly and facing his bona fide stalker. "Whatcha wanna eat? My treat. Or yours, if you happen to carry around some spare cash, but in all honesty you look like a homeless John Constantine so I'm assuming no. That said, what'll it be, wings?"

Castiel gave Dean a strange look. "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

"No, really. Feel free. Grab a bite. You're not a vegetarian are you? I know for a fact Jimmy Novak is clearly _not_. Want something hot? How 'bout a beef casserole?" Dean chuckled to himself. "Hah. Casserole. Get it, Cas? _Casse_role."

Castiel blinked like an owl, then nodded slowly. "Your play on words is nothing short of impressive. But no, at this moment, I really do not require any sort of foodstuff."

Dean stared at Castiel for a long moment. "Okay. Whatever, tweety. You're getting a bacon cheeseburger and _that_ is final." The man turned on his heel and headed for the counter to order.

Minutes later, the two of them were seated at a small wooden table tucked away in a tight, inconspicuous corner, their meals in front of them ready to be devoured.

"They claim to have pretty awesome burgers here," Dean said, grinning away. He watched Castiel as the angel picked up his burger and took a bite.

"Verdict?"

"Much too greasy," was Castiel's deadpan reply, which prompted Dean to roll his eyes.

"Right. Clearly you don't share your vessel's eating habits," Dean grumbled a little. "The guy's a damn vacuum cleaner in his own right." He grabbed his own burger and started on it. "'Course, you turned into one yourself not too long ago."

"That wasn't my fault."

"Uh-huh, yeah, Famine worked his mojo on you. Or Jimmy, whatever. But c'mon, Casanova!" he said thickly, chomping away gracelessly. "You gotta learna leggo once in awhile."

A puzzled frown. "Let go? Of what?"

"Ne'er min'," Dean rolled his eyes a second time and swallowed. "So anyway, what was so important you needed to sit with me through the horrors to fast food to tell me?" he asked offhandedly, tearing yet another chunk off his burger.

Castiel watched Dean for a few distracted moments as the man relished his food.

"Well?" Dean demanded. "This is not about some Michael thing, is it? About him and his quest to use me as his almighty angel condom of smiteliness?"

"No, it's about me."

Dean cocked his head to one side. "_You_ want to use me as a vessel?"

Castiel looked startled. "Well, no, of course not. I would never choose to exploit you in any way."

Dean looked down at his burger discontentedly. "Better you than Michael in my opinion anyhow," he muttered to himself, scowling.

Castiel heard him. "Your fear isn't misplaced," he agreed. "An archangel might not be the best entity to lend accommodation to. Michael's power is painfully immense. Even if he gives you back whole and true, you might be living in agony during the days that he wages his battles against the devil. In addition, we don't know how long he would plan to use your body to achieve his goal. The war might take years, maybe decades. We really don't know."

Dean brooded quietly for a few moments. Then, he exhaled, squared his shoulders and snapped his attention back to Castiel. "So, depressing biblical shenanigans aside, I hope you've got some pleasant news in store for me. S'only so much apocalypse-related subject matter I can take in my lifetime."

At this, Castiel shifted awkwardly in his seat, an uncharacteristic movement that made Dean raise an eyebrow.

"It is not a simple issue to discuss," the angel admitted.

Dean raised his other eyebrow.

"'Cuz of what? The pop culture involved or something?" The human leant back and casually bit into his burger. "You know Ellen DeGeneres is plotting world domination, right? Reckon she'd give ol' Lucy a run for his money?"

Any other time and Castiel would have frowned heavily at Dean's flippant demeanour. Now however, the angel was preparing to tread on unfamiliar and possibly quite dangerous ground.

"Dean, I don't know how to put this to you, exactly."

"Well _try_. I'm all ears, huggy bear. Just bring it."

"Fine." The word was said almost dryly. "I'll try." Castiel steeled himself and with a perfectly straight face lacking any sort of prior warning, he said in monotone: "It has come to my attention that I am starting to feel something for you that is more than what I feel for all of God's other creatures, Dean."

Dean kept right on chewing, a heavy, pregnant pause hanging between them as he contemplated these solemn words. Then, he swallowed and opened his mouth. "That's probably a little thing called annoyance, Cas. Nothin' to worry about."

A beat.

"I assure you, it is not."

Dean's brows knitted together in an uncomprehending 'I-don't-get-you' sort of fashion.

"I don't quite get you."

Castiel was showing remarkable patience, as well as indiscreet confusion as to why Dean could not understand him. He tried again.

"I was raised to love all of God's creations—all humans, you could say—just as I would love Him. But in light of recent events, I have come to realize that I don't see you as just another one of my father's creations. I feel something different towards you. Unfortunately, this could be seen as pure blasphemy in Heaven's eyes."

Dean's eloquent "huh?" that followed was almost funny, had it not been for the fact that Dean _really _did not get what was going on. If Sam were sitting with them, he'd be laughing like an idiot and calling his brother a "dense block of wood". Among other things.

Castiel sighed. "I believe the human equivalent to what I've been trying to say would be this: I find you quite endearing, Dean Winchester. I like you. More than I really probably should."

At this, Dean choked on a morsel of beef patty. But Castiel ploughed on, even as Dean struggled for the cup of soda in front of him, eyes wide and starting to water.

"The love I feel for you is not the love I feel for any other human, nor any angel, nor even my own father. It is… not platonic, as you might say. There is some amount of… attraction, I think…"

Dean spat his mouthful of Coke across the table. This earned him a disgruntled look from the angel, whose white shirt was now stained with flecks of brown.

"And—" the angel shoved a napkin towards Dean helpfully, "—as much as it scares me, I thought it absolutely necessary that you should have knowledge of this. Thus my confession."

There was a moment of silence as Dean cleared his throat with much difficulty and dabbed at his chin with the napkin. He was refusing to look anywhere in the angel's direction whilst his brain was trying to make some kind of sense of this revelation. He glared at the salt and pepper shakers on the table for some time, silently demanding answers. But it didn't seem like they were willing to lend a hand.

After a long, long moment, he looked back up again.

"Okay. Either you've suddenly developed a real good sense of humor, or you're being entirely serious. But the day you are blessed with anything remotely resembling a sense of humor is the day Jesus walks the earth hand-in-hand with Barney, which leaves me to conclude that you are quite obviously _insane_. Which is just what we need. An insane angel on the team. This is—"

"_Dean_." There was something in Castiel's voice that made it sound like a plea.

Dean stopped talking and stared long and hard at Castiel. Then, he let loose a long sigh. "Oh, God," he shut his eyes. "An insanely _gay_ angel."

Castiel looked extremely guilty at that. "Actually, we don't have genders," he admitted quietly. And at that, Dean popped his eyes open again.

"Somehow, that doesn't make it any more _okay_, Cas. A genderless thing attracted to a male human? How does that even _work_?" His voice was just a little too high.

Castiel looked away. "My apologies. Have I offended you?"

Dean blinked several times.

"I- what? _No_. No. Just, well… _Shit_. What the _hell_."

Castiel looked, if possible, extremely disappointed. And distressed. Not that many would be able to tell. But Dean could.

And he decided that _now_ would be a good time to take appropriate steps.

"Okay, look, Cas. You and me, we can never work out. You _know_ that. All it's gonna do is hurt you bad and make me feel really guilty. I don't want to play the bad guy here, but when push comes to shove, I _won't_ hesitate to be the heartbreaker. That's the cold, hard truth. So for both our sakes, you're gonna drop it, and we're gonna pretend you never brought this up, okay? We're never talking about this ever, ever, _ever_ again." There was a short pause. "At least not until you get me Jimi Hendrix's autograph on a nifty stone tablet."

There was a moment of silence as they continued to stare at each other.

And then quite suddenly, Dean was sitting alone at the table.

* * *

"YOU SAID _WHAT_?"

Clearly, Dean wasn't having it any easier back at the motel.

He gritted his teeth in frustration and resisted the urge to kill something. "You heard me, Sam."

"Yeah. Loud and clear. So he confessed his love for you and you _asked for Hendrix's autograph written in stone? _Dean, you are one cruel, tactless jer—!"

"It was the first thing that came to mind, okay?" Dean snapped defensively, tossing his brother a wrapped takeaway burrito from the diner. "Dude put me in a spot and I was seriously freaking the hell out. I did not see it coming at all! My mind was going to _explode_! I was trying to do the whole laugh-it-off thing, y'know? Crack a joke when the situation gets uncomfortably awkward." Dean's expression turned wry. "Of course, Cas doesn't know a joke from an elegy or a laugh from a freaking _candlestick_. That guy is as socially awkward as a – a… _dude_, I don't even have a metaphoric description that comes _close_!"

Sam shook his head in near-disgust at his brother, throwing his burrito down onto the tabletop and sinking into a chair.

"Yeah, go ahead and say it. I'm at fault."

"Aren't you?" Sam spread his arms out tiredly.

"'_Course_ I am. Guy jumped on his invisible pony, plunged into Hell and pulled me out from the fiery depths of eternal damnation. I should be licking his boots and caressing his wings in undying adoration or something. But look at me! I can't even make the man smile! Much less say that I love him back."

"Do you?" Sam demanded.

"Huh?"

"Do you love him?"

"I think you've completely missed the fact that _he _is an _angel_ of the _Lord_. If 'angel of the Lord' equals 'human' in your own personal dictionary, you seriously need to consider _throwing the whole damn book away!_"

Dean's yell only succeeded in making his brother quirk an eyebrow disapprovingly.

"Riiiight. Unnecessary bitching aside, it'd be really great if you answered my question. Yeah, don't think I didn't see you gracefully sidestep that."

"This isn't a shitting matter, Sammy…" Dean growled warningly.

"_Exactly_. I'm glad you know that. Which is why you need to get serious and spit out an answer."

Dean clamped his mouth shut and refused to say anything.

"Yeah, uh-huh. Okay. You obviously like Cas more than you should."

"I _never_ said—!"

"You seem to be having an awful lot of trouble answering my simple yes-or-no question," Sam pointed out.

Dean momentarily thought of retorting, then changed his mind abruptly and decided to fix Sam with a withering glare instead.

There was a long moment of silence whereby Dean's heated glare eventually softened enough to pass off as a sullen pout.

"You good?" Sam asked eventually, expression cool and unruffled. Well actually, he'd been trying extremely hard to bite back a shrill giggle and a wanton declaration of 'Oh my God, Dean and Castiel are so totally hot for each other!'

"No, I'm not. Do I seem good to you? Clearly, I am _un_good. This is _so_ supercalifriggin' _bad _on so many levels that…" Dean let loose a string of curses and began to pace around the room. "I am at a _total_ loss here, man."

"Well, you could maybe try apologizing to Cas, for a start. Say you didn't mean what you said and that you were speaking out of your ass. Ask for his divine forgiveness. You know, pull the whole kiss and make up routine. Actually kiss him _for real_. It'll work. Trust me."

"Well, hotshot. Don't recall asking for the free sexvice," Dean bit out acidly. "Thanks for the brain-searing imagery, by the way. You were always good at making me feel better 'bout a crappy situation."

"Sorry," Sam tried and failed to sound sheepish, "it's just this whole couple dilemma thing is kinda cute. In a _very_ non-girly, very _manly_ way," he added hastily at his brother's mortified expression as soon as the word 'cute' left his mouth.

"First, we are _not_ a goddamn _couple_. Second, we are _not_ going to discuss this because we don't have _time_ to discuss this. There are _platoons_ of demons and angels out there ready to level the earth. So this stupid issue can bloody _wait_." He glared at Sam, daring his brother to argue otherwise.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, okay, Luce comes first. Got it. But we still need Cas on the team. And he's out there somewhere, pissed. Possibly bite-smite-lookin'-for-a-fight pissed. Or he could quite possibly be irrationally suicidal. Now, what do you think you can do to calm him down?

"_Me?_"

"Yes, you. And— _hey_, don't look at _me_, man. You started this. He's your angel, not mine. And this is definitely not my problem."

"Well, I can't help it if he's going through his whole I'm-starting-to-express-a-shitload-of-human-emotions phase just as the world's about to end! Man's gotta get his priorities straight. Apocalypse _now, _emo infatuation problem later. Muuuuuch later. Maybe even never."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Least we know who's definitely playing the guy in the relationship. You've got commitment issues, man."

Dean spluttered in disbelief. "Commitment—! For the love of bloody tacos! I'm just bein' _practical_ here. If Cas is gonna get his threadbare panties in a—"

"Dean, you can't blame him. He's _in love_ with you."

"_I know, Sam._ He's made that pretty damn clear. And don't think I don't know it's not a simple teenage crush either. It's _love_. I get that. Real, honest, angel love. Love does crazy things to a person, I know. And okay, fine, major creepiness aside, it's actually kinda nice to know I'm adored by one of God's fluffy-winged, stony-faced messengers. But you and I both know that me and Cas… we can't do anything about it—can't even sit down and discuss it—until this ridiculous Lucifer thing is over."

Sam was quiet for a moment, mulling something over. His face was contorted in a deep frown.

"You know. You ever stop to think that – that maybe the reason why Cas is so upset is because he's afraid? Afraid of losing you to Michael? To Lucifer? To the apocalypse? Afraid that if he doesn't start loving you now, he might never get the chance? Heaven has just about as much of a chance at losing the war as Hell. In fact, Hell actually seems to have the higher ground at the moment. Maybe all Cas wants is for you to at least acknowledge the fact that he might lose the one thing on earth that he truly loves to this war."

Dean quietened down. "We're not gonna lose," he muttered.

"Not the point, Dean."

"Well, can you…" Dean's expression was troubled, "can you at least maybe try talking to him for me?"

Sam looked at Dean's pleading expression and heaved a sighed.

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Sam encountered Castiel quite by accident a few hours later when the Winchester decided to go for a late night stroll. Actually, he'd been thinking of calling the angel for a chat, but decided that he didn't need to as soon as he rounded the block and came to a small, deserted park where he found the angel seated by himself on a bench a few feet away. Sighing resolutely, he approached with caution.

"Cas."

Castiel looked briefly up at Sam, not the least bit startled to find the Winchester there.

"Hey. How you holdin' up?"

At the lack of response, Sam continued.

"Look, I know you and Dean have issues you want to settle—"

"How is he?"

Sam blinked at the abruptness in the angel's voice. "Castiel," he said slowly, "you know Dean was just spooked. He didn't know what he was talking ab—"

"Is he okay?"

"Ah, he's—" _trying to make himself as drunk as possible_. "Eh. Well, don't worry about him. I should be the one asking _you_ that question."

"Does he hate me?"

"Cas, Dean's got too few friends to even risk hating one of them. No, if anything, Dean far from hates you. He is, however, finding it kinda difficult to come to terms with your newfound feelings of, ah… affection for him.

"Because I'm not a woman."

"Er…"

"And he is fond of women."

"Cas—"

"And fornication," Castiel added helpfully. "One of his strange hobbies."

"Okay, okay! Look, Dean likes girls, yeah," Sam agreed hastily, silently cursing his brother for pulling him into this mess. "But," the Winchester was hesitant when he said his next few words, knowing it could hurt Castiel. "I kind of doubt this has anything to do with your – your vessel's gender… more because you're, well, an angel. And regardless of the fact that he feels most of them are religious-crap bastards with a holier-than-thou attitude, Dean knows angels are still one step high above the human race. And being someone with an ego the size of the _sun_… let's just say he's got insecurities."

Castiel frowned. "Insecurities?"

Sam sighed. "He's got a problem with you, a powerful, magnificent sentient being, having feelings for him, a lowly human who has nothing to show but a shameful track record of his deeds in Hell. He knows he can't live up to someone as virtuously unattainable as you. So he thinks that getting involved is the worst possible thing he could do."

Castiel was silent. "I understand why he would feel that way," he finally said, "but he should know that I don't care about what happened in Hell, only that I wasn't able to save him any sooner."

"I'm not saying he isn't being a heartless jackass for turning you away. He _is_. But I guess this whole issue does raise a question. Aren't angels and humans forbidden to be, well, _together_?"

Castiel looked away. "Yes. An angel risks immediate exile from Heaven were he to favor one human over all the rest."

Sam looked sadly him. "And you were willing to sacrifice your place in Heaven for him?"

"Quite readily. But all that doesn't matter now. Dean doesn't wish to accept my love. He has denied me for who I am." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. "And maybe he is right to do so."


	2. Chapter 2

**freefalling is an art.**

(part two)

* * *

It was fairly late when Sam got back to the motel. From the doorway of their shared room, he could discern Dean dozing off on his bed, an empty beer bottle held slackly in his hand. There were several more bottles littering the floor. It looked as if Dean had a great time with himself—or at least had attempted to try. This did not amuse Sam in the slightest. As soon as the younger Winchester stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, he picked up the television remote from atop the set and threw it at his brother to get his attention.

Dean gave a yelp as the remote just barely missed his head and slammed against the headboard behind him with a loud crash. The batteries even flew out of the case.

"Holy _crap_, Sam! What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Dean yelled, dropping his bottle and raising both hands over his face to protect himself from anymore flying objects that his brother might or might not decide to chuck at him.

Sam folded his arms and fixed his brother with a meaningful glare. "I just spoke to Cas," he huffed, as though that was all the explanation needed to justify his annoyance.

Dean lowered his hands slowly. "Oh."

"Oh? No, not _oh, _Dean. Seriously. Way to go." Sam looked a tad aggravated. "I think he's starting to hate himself. I _swear_, I have never seen an angel exhibit as much self-loathing as Cas."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off.

"First, if you recall, you used to treat him like dirt shortly after he raised you from Hell. Then, you reinforce doubt in his mind which led to him making a bucketload of sacrifices for you. And you don't even show an _ounce_ of gratitude for that. Now, you've given him a reason to despise himself. You've turned a good angel into a horrible pessimist. Never thought I'd see the day, but right now? I am feeling so damn sorry for the guy."

Dean stared at his brother stupidly for a moment. Then: "Okay. Are you done trying to make me feel bad? Or do you feel the need to go on till I start bawling my eyes out?"

"Don't get all sarcastic with me," Sam snapped. "Just talk to him, Dean!"

"What_ for?_" Dean countered.

"What for? You know what for!" Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. "If you don't love him the way he loves you, then just tell him already! To his damn face! Put his mind at rest so he can move on! Do you – do you enjoy putting him through this torture or something? You think he can't feel hurt? If he can _love_, Dean, he can bloody well _hurt_."

At the word 'torture', Dean grew still and deathly quiet.

"Unless you _do_ love him," Sam went on, oblivious to how his brother's face had paled. "In which case quit _running_ and tell him you _do_. And then kiss and make up, dammit. I'm tired of the two of you tiptoeing around each other. This isn't high school and you're definitely not the victim. Cas is."

And with that, Sam was done with his speech and refused to speak to Dean for the rest of the night.

Dean was left to mull over a few things as his brother got into bed and sulkily flicked the lights off. The silence was deafening and for the troubled Winchester, sleep didn't seem to want to come.

* * *

The very next day, it took Dean a grand total of two hours and a lot of resolve for him to make the five-second call (that consisted of him grunting out a tongue-tied "hey, um, can I see you for a sec?"), and just two seconds for the angel to show up at the motel. Sam had considerately gone off somewhere on his own with the Impala.

The angel was standing more than a good few feet away, leaning against the closed door leading to the bathroom. He'd taken Dean's request for 'personal space' to a whole new level.

"Hey, Cas." Dean nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he turned to face the angel fully. "I think we need to talk. Uh, can we? Talk?"

"If you wish," Castiel replied impassively, face as expressionless as ever.

Dean exhaled. Okay, at least the angel was acknowledging his presence. That was a good sign. Now for the major chick flick moment he'd been mentally psyching himself up for all of last night.

"Well, uh, first thing's first." He straightened a little and took a few experimental steps toward the angel. "I guess I owe you an apology."

"For?"

_Breaking your heart._ "Being the biggest dick. I didn't mean to turn you down like that. That was a low blow. I – I just…" Dean trailed off helplessly, fingers combing through his hair in frustration. "I wasn't prepared for…" He pursed his lips, stopping for a second time, then loosened a sigh as he tried to find the right words. "I'm not… not good at handling emotional situations, especially… especially with angels," he finished lamely. "I know I'm not the world's best friend, and I sure as hell don't deserve any awards for being a good lover. Honestly, I can't believe you've stuck around for so long. If I were you, I'd have given up on me ages ago and flown off to drown myself in booze and gorge on bacon cheeseburgers, or go do whatever it is that angels find fun." Dean stopped short when he realized he was going off tangent, largely due to nerves. He decided to get to the point. "Okay. You're in love. Perfectly understandable. I'm a lovable guy. Lots of flaws, made plenty of mistakes, tortured countless souls in Hell, sinned like nobody's business… okay, let's be serious, Cas, you can do _way_ better than m—"

"Stop."

Dean shut his mouth.

"Do _not_ talk about yourself like that. Ever again."

There was a strange feeling of warmth deep in his gut and Dean wanted to break out in hysterical laughter for some odd reason. "What? You think I'm a virtuous man, Cas? Who are you tryin' to kid, huh? Come _on_—"

"I never said you were," Castiel snapped, bringing Dean up short. "Don't you _ever_ for _one second_ think that I don't _know_ what you are and what you've done. Because I do. I know _everything_, Dean Winchester. It's what makes you _the_ _only human_ I've come to admire and ultimately appreciate to the point of feeling some sort of affection for."

Dean was taken aback by Castiel's grim, unsmiling confession. He looked at the angel's stony face in wonder and silent contemplation.

"Are you done speaking to me?" Castiel finally said, voice smooth and hard like polished marble. His eyes were fixed determinedly on the wall behind Dean. "If you don't mind, I would like to leave."

A brush of panic spiked in Dean's mind as the angel straightened stiffly as though getting ready to vanish. It took every ounce of self-control not to just launch himself at Castiel and scream at him to _STAY, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT_.

"_Castiel_."

Castiel's eyes shot towards Dean's in an instant. _That_ definitely caught his attention.

Dean's voice was low. "I'm not done yet. With speaking, yeah. But I'm not done with you, you goddamn son of a bitch. So…" He closed in on the angel, deliberately backing him into the bathroom door. "You're not leaving," Dean's hand shot out to clamp over Castiel's shoulder, "until I," he leaned in close, could almost hear Castiel's heart rate doubling, could feel his own triple, "do _this_."

He smashed his lips against Castiel's.

And in that instant, he thought to himself, _oh God why didn't I do this any sooner?_

All things considered, Dean felt very lucky that the angel didn't just throw him off and decide to poof away. After all, he wasn't sure the angel knew the human significance of sharing a kiss. But it seemed that Castiel did, because after the initial seconds of shock had worn off, he was kissing back. Slowly. Hesitantly. But surely.

The Winchester felt like he was going to explode on the spot. And for a suspended moment, everything melted away and was _perfect_.

In actual fact, the kiss lasted quite awhile. Not nearly as long as Dean would've liked, but for his very first guy-on-guy kiss, he reckoned it was good enough.

"You…" Dean was breathing hard as he pulled back. "You taste like magic."

Castiel's lips, still softly parted in awe, quirked up a bit. "You taste like a bacon cheeseburger."

Dean considered this very carefully and came to a conclusion. "I must taste pretty damn good then." He glanced down at his feet for a few moments before looking back up at Castiel. "I hope you're not still thinking of leaving?"

The angel looked abashed. "I – I think I'll stay for a bit."

Dean smirked. "That's what I thought."

"Besides, I have something for you."

Castiel reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy-looking object made of stone about the size of a book.

"Uh, what—"

"You requested the autograph of James Marshall Hendrix," Castiel reminded him, brandishing the item.

Dean's eyebrows shot up disbelievingly and he took the slab of stone from the angel in amazement. He was about to open his mouth to say something, but Castiel lifted a hand to silence him.

"Unfortunately, after going through the records and looking up all twelve hundred scrolls of 1970-related deaths to see if his name is among those who passed through The Gate, I regret to inform you that he never managed to enter Heaven."

"So Hendrix is in _Hell_?"

"Perhaps."

Dean frowned, then shrugged. "Well, should've guessed, what with the drinking and the drugs and the typically unhealthy habits associated with musicians. Man, really wish I'd met the guy in person, then. Had the perfect chance."

Unfortunately, Castiel didn't exactly know how to respond to that, so he kept his face carefully blank.

Dean broke into a small smile, knowing Castiel never quite liked it whenever he mentioned his stay in Hell. "Well," he waved a hand in the air flippantly, "dude could've been clever enough to outsmart the reapers, yeah? Could still be a ghost somewhere 'round these parts."

The angel nodded once, absently.

Dean looked down at the stone slab engraved with the unfamiliar signature. "So, just whose autograph did you manage to snag instead?"

At this question, Castiel locked his hands behind his back as though he were about to start rocking on his heels and carelessly whistle an innocent tune to the rest of the world. It was probably all Dean's imagination that the action alone managed to make the angel look pretty damn smug about something.

"I had to do a lot of sneaking around behind the backs of my superiors," Castiel explained, eyes hiding a smile. "But after some moments of concealed intrusion, I managed to meet with her."

"Her?"

"Your mother, Mary Winchester. She held that tablet not two hours ago."

Maybe subconsciously he already knew. Didn't stop the fact that Dean very nearly dropped the object in shock.

"_Son,_" Dean breathed, "_of a bitch_." There was of magnitude of awe in his voice, in his expression, in his entire stature. For a split second in his mind, he pictured a woman in white with beautiful golden hair holding a chisel, smiling a radiant smile.

"You approve, I take it? With your use of strangely exotic colloquialisms, I find it hard to tell at times." Castiel sounded a little amused and, if at all possible, a little bit proud of himself.

Dean's eyes were now currently glued to the tablet. "Dude, I swear to God…" His voice was choked as his grip on the hard granite tightened a notch until his knuckles flushed white. "_Cas_, you are a friggin' _angel_."

"Mmm. So you've noticed. I was beginning to worry."

At _that_, Dean's head snapped up, just in time to catch the barely-there smirk on Castiel's face.

"_Hoooo_ly shit. Was that a— Cas, you _Godsend_, did you just— You did! You smug bastard!" Dean's face was exultant. "So you actually _do_ possess a sense of humor after all. I can't _believe_ this! Somewhere out there, Jesus must be partying hard with Barney!" He clapped a hand on Castiel's back.

"Who is Barney, exactly?"

Dean shook his head, still grinning away. "Chunky purple dinosaur who bounces and sings on TV. You gotta see him to understand."

"I see."

They stood for a moment in silence.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Thanks."

"You are most welcome."

"So how is she? Was she nice?"

"Your mother?"

"Yeah."

"She's an interesting woman. Very graceful. We had a pleasant conversation whereby she asserted that she misses you and Sam more than anything and that she is extremely proud of the both of you. Also, she thinks you're doing a wonderful job of protecting your brother and she's sure that the both of you will pull through in the end."

Dean regarded Castiel for a moment and grinned. "We gotta arrange a meeting between you and my dad next, I think," he joked. "Do the whole Meet The Parents thing."

Castiel smiled a little and Dean brought a hand up to fluff his hair.

"I know we've still got a lot to discuss, Cas. I promise you we'll sort this out. I promise. But Lucifer has to go. He's first priority. If anything, the fact that we've got things to settle with each other afterwards is an incentive to make goddamn sure we win."

_-fin.

* * *

_

_**Author's note: **__Done. Dramatic fluffy wuff, with extra added Winchester, thanks to my sneaking Mary into the plot somehow. Even if it's just her name and… stuff. Happy Valentine's Day, all._

_The Minions would've caught a couple of cunning references from The Master in this fic._

_That is all. May Cupid be with you. If you have time to spare, **reviews are very much appreciated!** :)  
_


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